Wilson In The Evening: A Sequel
by lbc
Summary: This is the continuation of the Wilson in the Morning story. Each part is fairly short. One will be posted each day this week. They are preslash, featuring House and Wilson. Feedback welcome. The conclusion of the arc is posted.
1. Chapter 1

WILSON IN THE EVENING

Title: Wilson: Princeton to Baltimore

By: lbc

Pairing: House and Wilson

Rating: mature adults

Genre: pre-slash

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters

Words: 886

Summary: Wilson deals with the monster.

Note: This is the continuation arc from the series: Wilson InThe Morning.

What do you do when you walk out on your best friend? James Wilson sighed, closed his eyes, and pressed his head to the steering wheel of his Lexus and sat for a moment; then got out of his car and walked into John Hopkins to begin a new life - - for three months, at least.

The weeks flew by. The work was interesting, and he enjoyed explaining and demonstrating some of the techniques that Princeton-Plainsboro was using in the field of Oncology, but there was a deep, devastating drag on his body and it had a name: Gregory House.

He didn't see Billingsly or Travis much, but there were a few other faces that were familiar, from a seminar or lecture or something, but it didn't make any difference. They weren't the one person that he wanted to see more than anything . . . the royal pain-in-the-ass and best friend, Greg House.

His apartment was comfortable, but no female or, for that matter, no male had crossed the threshold in the six weeks since Wilson had taken up residence. No late night pizza, no DVD watching, no sneaking into a coma patient's hospital room and watching 'General Hospital', no desperate need for a consultation that was merely a means of skiving. Wilson sighed as he realized how much the limping, scruffy faced man was involved in his day to day life.

For some reason, James Wilson noticed the calendar, sitting on his practical, well-designed desk. The three doctors who had made the trip to PPTH in the exchange had given over their offices to their fellow exhangees. Wilson had inherited Mark Vestry's desk, as neat and precise a specimen of orderliness as could ever be found. Normally Wilson would have loved it. He was methodically neat at work and took it out on his own living quarters. Only now he didn't have a home of his own in Princeton. The final papers of his third divorce had come through two months before; so he gave up his apartment again to his ex-wife, as he had done previously, much to House's amusement.

He had been reluctant to tell House about his divorce for that very reason. He should never have married any of his wives; they would never and could never be a substitute for the furry-faced man that he had fallen in love with some 18 years before. But, all of that was gone now. Wilson had his independence . . . and little else.

Leaning back in his chair, in the perfect office, Wilson glanced at the calendar once again. Six weeks . . . six long weeks. It was now April and while he had kept in touch with Cuddy - - for professional reasons - - he had heard nothing from or about Gregory House, except the vague hints that Cuddy dropped from time to time. He had heard about House's run-in with Cruikshank; he knew that House had lost weight. Wilson had asked if his love handles were gone, but the hospital administrator had ignored the question; maybe he should have asked Cameron, instead. Wilson knew that House was looking tired and in pain, but that was nothing unusual . . . and that's where the revelations stopped.

Suddenly, James Wilson sat straight up in his chair. He stared at the calendar again. April 8! Why did April 8 ring a bell? Then the answer came to the young doctor. Reaching into his billfold, James Wilson carefully removed two tickets: tickets near the main floor for the long awaited sequel to "The Monsters Do It". He had purchased the tickets to thank House for allowing him to stay in his condo. Then the Valentine's Day debacle had occurred and Wilson had walked out. What was he going to do with them now?

Wilson continued to stare at the tickets. They had cost him a bundle. He had even arranged for the two men to stay overnight at the 70 Park Avenue Hotel and eat at Sardi's. The cost would rival the national budget, but Wilson wanted House to know how grateful he was, without actually saying it. Now it was all for nothing. James Wilson was more than 150 miles away, and the two men hadn't spoken in six weeks.

What was he going to do?

Wilson stared at the phone for several minutes; he knew that he could cancel the hotel reservation, but what about the monster machines? Why should he miss out on such an event? New York wasn't that far from Baltimore. He could find someone else to go with him. . . someone else who would appreciate being with him; staying at a great hotel, and eating gourmet food. He didn't need Greg House!

Continuing to stare at his phone for several more minutes; James Wilson finally picked up the phone and placed a call.

After speaking for a moment or two, James Wilson straightened his suit and tie, going off to do battle against another monster.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Wilson In The Evening: A Sequel, part 2

By: lbc

Title: Wilson: "I shall return."

Pairing: House and Wilson

Rating: mature adults

Genre: slash

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters.

Words: 1003

Summary: Wilson returns to Princeton

Note: Continuation of the arc.

It was late Wednesday afternoon, definitely not the time to be driving north on Interstate 95, but James Wilson was almost home. A sharp pain filled his body as he realized that Princeton had not been his home for six weeks, but Greg House still plundered rampantly over the medical territory of Princeton-Plainsboro, so from that point of view, it was home.

Wilson was exhausted. The meeting with the administrator at Hopkins had not been easy. After all Wilson had only been there for six weeks, and now he wanted to take a long weekend . . . a very long weekend. Wilson shook his head as he silently realized how much he hoped that these five days would also mean a lost weekend for two individuals who would launch themselves on New York and take on the Monster Machines.

He had talked to Cuddy and managed to finagle her into accepting the need for a briefing about the past six weeks. It was as good a reason as any for Wilson's presence at the hospital that he had left so precipitately a month and a half before. Parking the Lexus, he looked at his watch. House often went home before 6:00 pm, and it was now after 7:00, but Wilson had been held up by the usual traffic. It would wreck all of his plans if the glorious pain in the ass, Greg House, had already gone home.

As he approached his office . . . well really Mark Vestry's office, he saw the slender figure of Allison Cameron. A chill of fear ran down Wilson's back as he saw the look of surprise and concern on her face.

"Allison's, what's wrong? Your boss keeping you working at this hour?"

"Doctor . . . Doctor Wilson, I didn't know you were back. Thank heavens; we've been trying to reach you for the last few hours. Dr. House collapsed."

Wilson's eyes widened slightly as he blurted out, "Where is he?"

Cameron immediately headed down the corridor towards a small private room. Inside lay an almost emaciated figure wrapped in white: Greg House. Wilson immediately looked at the charts and personally checked vital signs. House seemed to be sleeping at the moment.

Cameron studied the concern on the handsome doctor's face and whispered, "We got the tox screen back. He must have O'Ded on Vicodin. He was in the clinic. Said something to the patient and then passed out. He's been conscious and in a lot of pain."

"Why's Cuddy treating him?"

"He won't let anybody else." A blush appeared on the young woman's face. "He says that her bedside manner is the best in the business when she leans over."

Wilson smiled, feeling better. If House could still be sarcastic, then maybe this wasn't a sign of some aftermath from the infarction. "Is Cuddy still here?"

"Yes, she was planning to stay all night, if Doctor House wasn't better."

"Tell her to go home; my doctor's here now."

Both Wilson and Cameron looked at the figure on the bed. House's blue eyes were staring into Wilson's brown ones. Cameron seemed mystified. She knew that Wilson and House were each other's prescribing physicians, but House hadn't seen Wilson in six weeks and the hospital grapevine had speculated about a serious falling out between the two men.

Wilson smiled shyly at his friend; then looked at Allison Cameron. "Thank you, Doctor Cameron, I think you can tell Dr. Cuddy to go home now. I'll be around . . . for awhile."

Greg House's blue eyes followed Cameron's departing figure but said nothing until she left. Trying to clear his throat, House stopped, looking exhausted. Wilson helped House drink some water then wiped his face with a wet cloth.

Wilson wanted to take the fallen man into his arms as he had done so many years before, but he held back. House closed his eyes tiredly then opened them and whispered, "I . . . didn't do it deliberately."

Wilson nodded then responded, "Tell me what happened."

"I think I took one Vicodin too many. I was feeling . . . pain. I had clinic duty. Cuddy has been on a real tear about me doing the hours. I haven't been able to blackmail the kids so I've had to do every damn hour for the last . . . six weeks. That idiot Cruikshank shouldn't be allowed to practice medicine. He'd be better off with a doll and pins . . . speaking of that, maybe he put some sort of curse on me."

Wilson looked sympathetically, but remotely at House, which wasn't easy. "Cruikshank doesn't have much of a personality, but then neither do you, so what happened?"

House sighed, "He got the wrong exam room and thought I wanted a consult. Just then I was giving a pelvic exam to a woman patient and in he walks. She screams . . . he screams and the result was I took another Vicodin . . . only that was one too many and a few minutes later, I was out for the count."

If House hadn't looked so pathetic, Wilson would have laughed then hugged him. "Well, it looks like your vital signs are good. I think you're ready to break out of this place. Suppose I talk to Cuddy about getting you released so that you can go home?"

House, looking even more scruffy than usual, smiled briefly. "Thanks, but just one question, what are you doing here?"

James Wilson had not been Greg House's friend for 18 years without learning a few lessons. Using his best innocent face, he replied as he turned and left the room, "Oh, I stopped by to pick up my date before driving to New York."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Wilson In The Evening: A Sequel, part 3

Title: Wilson: New York, Here I Come!

By: lbc

Pairing: House and Wilson

Rating: mature adults

Genre: slash

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters.

Words: 1514

Summary: Wilson takes House home.

While James Wilson was gone, Greg House got dressed. He was a little shaky, but the "collapse" had done him good. Seeing James Wilson had done him even more good. Sitting on the bed, he stared at the floor. It had been a very long six weeks. House sighed; he had always been an independent person, not needing anyone. Even Stacy had become more a symbol than a real necessity, but now House's faith in his independence had been shaken. It had been shaken in the form of a tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed imp who had led him a merry chase for 18 years. A man he had bedded when Wilson was still a teenager, and the person who had always been there for him . . . through pain, abandonment and . . . sarcasm.

Yes, James Wilson had returned but only because of a date and then like a thief in the night, he would disappear once again, taking Gregory House's heart with him.

House had not noticed that he was tapping his cane until Allison Cameron entered the room. "Are you leaving?"

House looked up at the young woman who continued to follow after him like a new puppy. "No, not really. Just decided to practice my newest composition before I take it home to put it to music."

"You're feeling better?"

"Better is a relative term, but yes, I am able to walk out of here instead of collapse."

"I'll be happy to take you home."

House stopped in his tracks. He knew he shouldn't drive, but Wilson had said nothing about taking him home. He didn't want Cameron's company, but a taxi wasn't attractive either.

"Working long hours, Dr. Cameron?"

Dr. Lisa Cuddy walked briskly into the room, as if it was 9:00 am instead of almost 10 hours later. Allison Cameron recognized that as a dismissal, giving House a strange look as she left.

Cuddy folded her arms in front of her and announced, "Dr. Wilson tells me that you want to be released. I'd like to check you over before I sign the papers."

"Oh, be still my beating heart!" House enthusiastically put his hand over his heart as he leered at Lisa Cuddy's chest area.

Wilson smiled, "I've checked him over. Here's his chart. I'd like to get him home before that extra dose of Vicodin wears off, and he begins to mutate back into his primordial state that we all know and admire."

Cuddy smirked for a moment then nodded, looked House up and down and then replied, "Yes, I can see what you mean. Okay, boys. See you on Monday!"

Both men made a quick exit. Wilson's silver Lexus pulled up to the door as House was escorted by the Amazons of PPTH, Cuddy and Cameron. Entering the car quickly, the two men were on the road before another word was said.

Pulling up in front of House's condo, James Wilson walked the exhausted man to the main door, but seemed to hesitate at the lobby. House, leaning heavily upon his cane, looked at his friend and asked, "Are you driving to New York tonight?"

"No, my hotel reservations start tomorrow night, and the Monsters aren't until Saturday night."

Gregory House's battered body now bristled like a dog meeting the competition. His Jamie was taking someone else to see the Monster Machines? "What the hell are you talking about? You came all the way to Princeton for a date and then you're going on to New York to see the Monster Machines - - OUR Monster Machines?"

Wilson blushed slightly and had the grace to appear embarrassed. "Well, duh, House, if my date is here then I had to stop here, didn't I?"

House turned to go towards the elevator, but stopped when he realized that Wilson was not following. "Who is it?"

Wilson did not respond. He stared, trying to figure out how he was going to answer that. "Well, I had asked Cuddy, but she turned me down; couldn't be gone for four days. Do you think that . . . Cameron would like to go?"

House's blue eyes turned icy. "She's too young for you, Romeo."

"Well, she went with you, and you're MUCH older than she is."

House glared then revealed, "That was out of desperation . . . I mean for me . . . not for her. Remember who was busy with STACY and couldn't go, and I had already forked over the thousand dollars for the tickets."

"Oh, sure, bring that up again. Besides, I'm paying a lot more than that for this weekend."

House looked faintly puzzled. "Just how much are you paying?"

"None of your business, but I think that Cameron will like a dinner at Sardi's; staying at a five star hotel on Park Avenue, plus several hours of red hot action."

"Please, I hope you do not mean what I think you mean. She's young enough to be your daughter."

"Well, I was precocious, as you can verify, but you're the one who's dated her . . . not me."

House looked dubious but only asked, "How much are you laying out for this little extravaganza?"

Wilson looked slightly ashamed but responded, "About $2,000."

"For one weekend! Wow, you must have major expectations!"

Wilson sighed, his shoulders slouching. "House, you're tired; I'm tired. Go up to your condo and put yourself to bed. I've got to go to Julie's and pick up the stuff I left there."

House looked vaguely uncomfortable as he replied, "Don't bother; she called and virtually threw the stuff at me; it's upstairs in my extra bedroom."

Wilson was stunned. Greg House had told him to be independent and yet the man had talked to his ex-wife and then taken in his personal items? House would never cease to amaze him.

"Thanks; I appreciate it."

Within minutes James Wilson had determined that everything was in the guestroom. His remaining items were locked in the truck of his car. Walking back out to the living room, Wilson saw House slouched on the large sofa that dominated much of the room. The man looked totally forlorn.

Wilson cleared his throat and said, "Thanks for keeping the stuff. If it's okay with you, I'll leave it here until Sunday then I'll haul it all away when I get back from New York?"

House sat there twirling his cane, saying nothing for a moment or two then he asked, "How'd you get the tickets?"

"Huh?"

"Such brilliant repartée, Wilson. How did you get the tickets; they've been sold out for over a month."

Wilson felt his stomach turn-over. Danger lay in this direction. "I ordered them awhile ago."

"How long is awhile ago?"

Oh, oh! "A couple of months, besides what difference does it make?"

"You mean you ordered them in February?"

"Something like that."

"Then why are you still looking around for a date?"

"Well, if you must know, Mr. Nosy Diagnostician, the person who I was going to take crapped out on me, so I'm looking for a substitute. I'm really too tired to deal with this now, so goodnight Dr. House or whoever you are."

Wilson turned and headed towards the door, but stopped when he heard the magic word, "Jamie." It had been said in the barest whisper, but it was enough. Wilson turned to look into the bewildered, confused, and utterly adorable face of Greg House.

Wilson said nothing, just stared. His heart was beating so fast, surely House could hear it all the way across the room. House laid down his cane and said, "I'll buy the extra ticket from you."

"What?"

"Did your batteries fail? I-will-buy-the-ticket-from-you. How much is it?"

Wilson paused, trying to analyze the situation before he replied, "$500.00."

House nodded, reaching in his pocket for a check. Within seconds he was handing it over. Wilson stood staring at the check as if it was a snake or something. "Come on Wilson, give me the ticket."

Finally, after what seemed like eons, Wilson removed his billfold and found the ticket, handing it to House. Blinking several times, Wilson stared at House then turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

The younger man turned to stare, "What?"

"You're staying here tonight. I can't really drive after that episode today so I'll expect you to chauffeur me to New York. I've always wanted to stay on Park Avenue and Sardi's sounds super." House smiled gloatingly and waited.

Somehow his whole plan of independence had gone wrong, but James Wilson decided not to complain. He was heading to New York City with Greg House to see the Monster Machines . . . and they were going to be together at one of New York's best hotels. It should be quite a weekend . . . if they didn't kill each other along the way.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Wilson In The Evening: A Sequel, part 4

By: lbc

Title: Wilson: New York, New York: It's A Wonderful Town!

Pairing: House and Wilson

Rating: mature adults

Genre: pre-slash

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters.

Words: 2226

Summary: Wilson and House in New York.

Note: This concludes the arc.

James Wilson opened the door to their King Premier room at the Park Avenue hotel. It was costing him almost $500 a night, but it had been worth it. The look on House's face when he had seen the humongous, king-sized bed - - the single bed in the room had been a triumph. House's eyebrow had shot up as he immediately announced that "he was not that kind of guy", but he had made very little fuss when the younger man had an indignant conversation with the management which failed to achieve a change in boudoir accommodations. It seemed that quite a few "Monster Machine" fanciers had decided to indulge at their hotel.

Friday evening had been wonderful. House had dressed up . . . well, he put on a tie and straightened his suit coat and ordered for them at Sardi's. Behind his menu, Wilson smiled and breathed a sigh of relief.

The next day had been even better. It was strange how hot dogs with mustard tasted even better than Sardi's excellent cuisine when he was with House. The Monster Machines were fantastic, and House was on his best behavior . House had even paid for the overpriced snacks and laughed at least a half-dozen times. His leg had even taken a day off for once.

It was now late evening as the two men entered the hotel room. They were pleasantly tired. House seemed to be limping more than previously, but his sarcasm had been held in check, for whatever reason.

"Want a beer?"

"Yeah, but I'm going to make good use of that Jacuzzi before I do anything else."

"Okay, do you want something from room service?"

House turned and smiled with his eyes. "Just because you're letting your love handles go, doesn't mean that I can afford to, beer will be enough for me."

After an hour, the oncologist was just about prepared to man the battering ram when the slender man walked out, clothed in one of the hotel robes and his skin. His hair was still wet, but it looked like the hour had done him good. House collapsed rather heavily on the couch that took up most of one wall, taking a huge drink from the ice cold beer that the younger doctor had thoughtfully returned to the mini-bar when House hadn't appeared right away.

"Hmmm!"

The two men sat at opposite ends of the very long sofa, saying nothing . . . not needing to say anything. The atmosphere was . . . contented. It wasn't terribly late . . . at least not by New York standards, but it had been a long, eventful day. House might want to go to bed.

James stood up, looked for his pajamas which he had worn the previous night, but couldn't find them. Turning he looked at House, "You seen my pajamas?"

"Is that a theoretical or practical question?"

"Huh?" Sighing heavily, he continued, "I wore some red striped pajamas last evening, and I would like to put them on after my shower. Do you know where they are?"

"If I say yes, do I get a present?"

The tired eyes blinked. Why was House doing this now, after such a good day? "What kind of present do you want?"

A speck of sadness crept into the magnificent blue eyes, "I want you to answer two questions for me, with no prevarication, stalling, or fabrication."

Pretending to bristle he blurted out,"When have I ever prevaricated, stalled, or lied to you?"

"You're doing it now!"

"I'm not doing anything right now except trying to locate my pajamas from a furry-faced, snarky, Monster Machine fiend whose love handles are the rage of Princeton-Plainsboro."

"You're so jealous! . . . All right, I'll tell you where your pajamas are, and you answer my two questions."

"Just two?"

"Mais, certainement!"

Cocking his head and looked extremely suspicious, he nodded his agreement. "All right, where are my pajamas?"

House shook his head. "Oh, no, this child wasn't born yesterday. Answers first then pajamas."

James sat down heavily on the end of the large bed, looking pathetic. "What's your first question?

"How does Cuddy really know that you have love handles?"

Raising his head quickly, he stared into House's curious and furious blue eyes. "I told you already - - at the gym."

"Naughty, naughty, that's another lie. I talked to Cuddy. She tried to cover for you, but those breasts never lie. What's the truth, James?"

House never called his friend that unless he was very serious. Suddenly, Wilson realized the depth of the issue that had been behind these last six weeks of heartache. "When did you talk to Cuddy?"

"When I gave her that magnificent and well-thought out Valentine's gift."

The light turned on in the handsome Oncologist's head. The very next day, House had berated him for his lack of independence, and within 24 hours, the man had left for Baltimore.

God, how he hated Baltimore. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head then began to talk. "When I found out you and Stacy were stuck in Baltimore, I knew what would happen. You were so different when you got back. Then you told me that you had kissed her. You were so sure that she really wanted you. God, how I hated her, you, and Baltimore, and then that's where I end up for six weeks."

House continued to sit quietly across the room from his friend. His slender hands were white as they gripped his cane. Once again he had hurt his friend without really meaning to.

Staring with his amazingly brilliant brown eyes, he said, "I got drunk and then I went to the hospital where I threw up. Cuddy found out and took me off duty. She put me in a private room and let me sleep it off. I was so stinking that I couldn't stand myself. She found me some other clothes and helped me change. That's how she knows about the love handles - - not that there's much left after the last six weeks."

Now it was House's turn to close his eyes and slink into a mire of misery. He had put his friend through all of that because of Stacy . . . again.

When House didn't say anything, the younger man felt his heart plunge. He had been acting like an idiot. House hated anyone acting like that. The two men had been friends for 18 years, but lovers for only a year, so long ago. House's barriers were obviously well in place.

"I just didn't want you to get hurt again," then he shook his head and continued. "No, that isn't entirely it; I just didn't know if I would be able to stand by and . . . well, I just didn't know if I could pick up the pieces again, if Stacy left you again."

Greg House got up and carefully walked over to the bed which the maid had previously turned down. Stripping to his boxers, House slid into his side of the bed, covering his face with his arm.

Coming out of his reverie, "Hey, wait a minute, where are my pajamas?"

After a moment, House's lips which were the only exposed part of his anatomy said, "They committed suicide."

"What?"

"I held them up in front of that large mirror in the bathroom. They were so revolted by their appearance, they threw themselves down the elevator shaft."

"But, Julie gave me those for my birthday last year."

"Ooops. Well, that should have told you that she really hated you. I'm surprised you waited so long to split up with hints like that. Wear your skin, get in bed, and turn out the light."

Grumbling slightly, he did exactly that. The room had black out curtains so the darkness was total. Both men knew instinctively, however, that even though the bed was very wide, they were lying near each other. After a minute or two, House's left hand began to search for well-known body. Finding a right hand, House clasped it to his.

"Sorry about the pajamas, but you don't really need them."

Sighing he said, "They weren't that bad, but . . . well, they weren't that good either."

There was silence for a moment as the touching became more comfortable to the two men. "How come you told me about my pajamas? You said two questions."

"Time off for good behavior?"

He smiled into the darkness but waited.

"How come . . . you didn't tell me about the divorce and going to Baltimore?"

Closing his eyes, he knew what the question really entailed. "I am a total loser at relationships with women. I like them, but being married . . . well, you always get such amusement out of my divorces; I felt like I couldn't take that again and then when you berated me about being more independent, I knew that Baltimore was the answer. I just forgot that I had already bought the tickets."

House nodded although his friend couldn't see it. The silence seemed to overwhelm the room, but when he tried to withdraw, he was held tightly by House's hand.

House turned on his left side and peered into the darkness as if he could see that lucious figure. "Do you have to go back to Baltimore tomorrow?"

"House, it's all arranged for three months. As long as Mark Vestry is here, I'm there."

"Okay, okay; I forget what an honorable man you are."

HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW

Sometime in the night the two bodies drew closer together to take mutual comfort from each other, but when the younger doctor got up around 9:00 am to take a shower, House barely seemed to notice.

An hour later the two men sat down to a room service breakfast, planning what to do with their remaining few hours in the Big Apple.

The phone rang. The oncologist, being closer and less lazy, answered it, speaking quietly for a few minutes then replaced the receiver.

A puzzled look occupied the handsome face. "The strangest thing."

House looked up from the less than stellar DVD he was watching, "Strange - - you mean a case?" In his best whining voice, he continued, "Oh we don't HAVE to go back and study Cuddy's best assets YET, do we?"

"No, but that was Cuddy. It seems that Mark Vestry is leaving right away to go back to Baltimore. His wife found out about a few activities that he's been involved in since he's been in Princeton and as they say, 'adios muchacho'.

House smirked, "All that smarts and languages, too; you amaze me."

James walked over to the temporary table and sat down, drinking some more coffee. "That's really amazing; here we were talking about Vestry and now he's gone."

"Well, as someone once said, 'Here today; gone tomorrow.' Where does that put you?"

Major vibrations were going off as he watched his friend's apparent innocence. What had House done? Secretly happy that he would not have to return to Baltimore, he was not ready - - yet - - to give up his independence.

"Well, it is a problem, but I think I can talk Cuddy into seeing it my way."

House closed one eye as if he wasn't on the man's wavelength. "Your way?"

"Yeah, well, there's no reason for me to give up six more weeks of spreading my golden words of wisdom. Love all the seafood, and I don't want to miss all those napoleons at Vaccaro's."

He seemed to drop into reverie over the delicacies offered in his adopted city; then he continued, "If I talk to Cuddy, she'll let Cruikshank take over the Oncology Department and be liaison with all the other departments. In fact, he was in on the program that we were talking about before I left, 'Get To Know Your Colleagues'. Cruikshank could go around and work with each department for a week or two, and then I wouldn't have to do it when I get back."

Gregory House, long time friend and pain in the butt, looked like he had just swallowed a goldfish or five. His lips were burbling like a guppy as he contemplated the future of Cruikshank "getting to know him better". "I . . . I don't think that's a good idea, Jimmy."

"Jimmy" smiled his most angelic. "Nonsense, this will be perfect. Mr. Independence meets Mr. Bloodsucker! The Monster Machines couldn't be more entertaining."

House gave him - - the glare - - then smiled, "You got any room at Hopkins for a few weeks?"

"House, you wouldn't!"

"Hmmm, we'll have to talk about it. Let's go up to Ollie's and pick up some Steamed Pork Buns; then we can discuss it in greater depth on the way to Princeton. After all we'll have lots of time."

The smirk on Greg House's face spoke volumes about the fun and adventure that awaited.

The end of the arc


End file.
